The story of a wetwipe, by me, Will Turner
by MoloxoShoals
Summary: Will Turner does not have the best of luck. Infact, it would probably be fair to say he has no luck at all. A parody of Pirates with Will taking the reigns, to show you what it was like before he was the mascaraed up Captain of the Flying Dutchman...
1. Chapter 1

_**A parody of a one Captain William Turner - before he sunk into the sea and returned without a heart and sporting a dashing bandana and some definate new mascara.**_

_**Written from the POV of dear William himself... and starting in Curse of the Black Pearl, during our first encounter with the blacksmith after the flashblack.**_

_Today is the day._

_Oh yeah, I'm ready. I'm keen._

_Sword practise is out the way, I'm pretty sure I'm looking my best – Mr Brown seems to think so anyway…_

**Mr Brown**: Will?

**Me:** Yes, Mr Brown?

**Mr Brown:** Will I thought you were out?

**Me:** I told you I was getting changed to take the sword up to the Governor and… and Elizabeth….

**Mr Brown:** But you told me you were getting changed four hours ago.

**Me:** Well I didn't know what tights to wear, and then the buckle didn't match my belt and so … oh it's been a disaster, it really has.

**Mr Brown:** … You've been dressing for four hours?

**Me:** No, I did three hours of sword practise – have to keep in shape you know, have to be, you know, ready and aggressive…

**Mr Brown:** Did you fall of the pier?

**Me:** …. No?

**Mr Brown:** Why's your hair all… wet?

**Me:** It wouldn't stay flat!

**Mr Brown:** Oh. Well. It just looks a bit. Wet.

**ME:** OH GOD! NO! PLEASE DON'T SAY IT LOOKS BAD? OH WOE! WHAT WILL SHE SAY! OH MR BROWN SAY IT ISN'T SO!

**Mr Brown:** It isn't …. so?

**ME:** So, you think I look good right, you know, sharp, sophisticated… the kind of lowly, generally handsome guy that could woo a girl like…. Elizabeth….

**Mr Brown**: You look… fine…

**ME**: Is that fine as in 'Yeah, right, but he's a lemon that will never get the girl he wants' or as in 'He's a FINE piece of manhood'?

**Mr Brown**: Um. Both?

_So now, with such clarification under my frilled cufflinks, I'm off to the Governor's house._

_It's taken me three months to finish this sword. Not that I mind, of course, but it does impede a little on my time for hammering odd bits of iron late at night and writing poetry. It's such a release. Sometimes I find that the sword practise just doesn't do it. All these pent up feelings of loss for a father I never knew and …. And Elizabeth…._

_Oh that dove of heavenly light. That damsel to which I do pledge my undying soul. How I long for thee and thy touch …. Thy love and grace…._

_If you saw her, you'd understand. Everyone would. Anyone would. You'd see why you have to make every effort to be a man._

_You'd see why I have to make extra effort. I have to beat him. I am the bigger man._

_I must beat James Norrington._

_The hyped up ice-cream headed Christmas decoration. You should see him, you really should. I mean, the other day, Elizabeth was riding past in her carriage, - looking like a sculpture carved by the angels themselves, if I may add – and I was, you know, gazing with unabashed commitment from my lowly abode, when MARCHING past, like he's some – like he's some KING, is that MAN (if indeed I can stretch to call him that) with so many ringlets it was hard to distinguish whether it was an exceptionally talented sheep or a human._

_And do you know what he said to me?_

_DO YOU KNOW?!_

_He said, and I quote:_

_'Good day, Mr Turnsford.'_

_Mr TURNSFORD. MR FUCKING TURNSFORD?! The man is meant to be of some educational and military standing and he can't even remember a NAME. And I'm making his sword for him. What gratitude._

_I hope it snaps in half, the bastard._

_Well no. No I don't hope it snaps in half. Because if it does Elizabeth will think I am the weed her father thinks I am. Oh yes, I know what that Governor thinks of me. He's just a curiously sly bully, THAT'S what he is. There's a lot of deceit buried under those buxom locks I can tell you now._

_It's the coughing. He says it's the 'dust'. Yeah. I bet it is._

_WELL HOW COME IT'S ONLY EVER DUSTY WHEN I AM IN THE VACINITY?_

_The thing is who would ever believe me. I'm certain Elizabeth thinks I roll around the floor of the Blacksmiths every morning just to make myself into one gigantic DUST PILE so I can scurry around causing the Governor pain._

_If only she knew the truth._

_NOONE coughs like this:_

_'WILLYOUWEED'_

_He thinks I don't know but OH – oh I am far smarter than my tights and buckled shoes and slightly feminine voice would have you believe._

_But Norrington? Oh he's worse. If that's possible. He's besotted with her. With my Elizabeth. With my shining ray of hope._

_I mean how disgusting is that? He must be about ninety-seven years old! He says it's only a wig but by all accounts he is just trying to hide the fact that he is an elderly gentleman._

_I see things._

_Well. I'm here._

_In the hall._

_Shaking._

_Sweating profusely._

_This is a good look. Oh yes, I must look the very picture of manhood. I can see it now. She's going to run down those stairs like some fresh maiden and will find me at the bottom, unconscious, having slipped over in my own pool of sweat in a blind attempt to escape embarrassment. Hair everywhere. Sword stuck in right buttock cheek. Buckle print in face where the Governor 'accidentally' stepped on me._

_He's doing this on purpose. That Governor. He knows exactly what I'm like and he'll do anything to make me suffer. GOD I hate having to be nice to him. But he is Elizabeth's father and she loves him and I love her … Its really just one big, complicated circle of romance._

_Apart from me and the Governor. There's no romance there. And I hope there's no romance between the Governor and Elizabeth._

_Its in no way like a romantic circle._

_Besides being scandalous, it is also wrong._

_It's the Caribbean heat. It just doesn't agree with me._

_I'm going to have to move about a bit. Keep the nerves down, you know._

_WHY, WHY, WHY did I wear these tights? I think my legs are melting. Oh GOD. That's an even more fitting scenario._

_Elizabeth, hair falling about her face like the blossoms of spring, arrives downstairs and finds me as a STUMP because I have melted. Propped up by my new sword. Buckle shoes pressed to face._

_Why are they taking so long?_

_That is a nice lamp._

_Brass fittings, clean finish, slight tilt to the left side though – fixable – in fact – I could do it now …_

_Oh Shit._

_SHIT._

_I'VE BROKEN THE FUCKING LAMP._

_Oh GOD what do I do? I can't hide it. Its not going to look right in my tights is it?! A headpiece? Could I make it into a headpiece? A festive garment perhaps?! SAY I FOUND IT SOMEWHERE?! BLAME NORRINGTON –_

_Oh God. Someone's coming. That's it. I'm dropping it._

**GOVERNOR WEATHERBY SWANN:** Ah, Mr Turner! Good to see you again! _Oh yeah. Yeah I bet you are pleased you stupid wig wearing POMPOUS DUST SNEEZING…_

**ME:** Good DAY Sir. _What was that? What was THAT? That was pathetic. I sound like I want to lick him or something. Could I have been more eager? Oh the shame of it all. That's it. I'm giving him the sword and getting out. Before I drown us all in perspiration._ I have your order.

_Here we go. This is it. This is my 'moment to shine'. I have a speech. I've been practising it for weeks now. The wording is so perfect_.

_God I can almost feel the loathing behind his smile._

**ME:** The blade is folded steel. That's gold filigree laid into the handle. _He could at least ATTEMPT to look impressed. You know, a smile, perhaps. A REASURRING GRIMACE FOR GOD'S SAKE?!_ If I may …

_Come on Will you can do it. YOU CAN DO IT. Flip and switch FLIP AND SWITCH._

**ME**: Perfectly balanced._ Not for bloody long if my hands don't dry._ The tang is nearly the full width of the blade. _Heh, HEH stick that in your WIG, GOVERNOR._

_Oh GOD that was a fine manouver. I'm actually brimming with pride. No one can flick a sword quite like the Willmeister is all I'm saying…_

**GOVERNOR SWANN**: Ho – Impressive. Very Impressive. … _You kid me. He LIKED IT?_ Commodore Norrington will be very pleased, I'm sure. _I would be very pleased if the sword was accidentally lodged in his ringlets, but we can't always have what we want can we. _Do pass my compliments on to your master.

_And there it is._

_THERE'S THE PUT DOWN._

_That BASTARD._

_'My MASTER'?! My fricking 'MASTER'?! He must know Mr Brown does nothing but drink all day? He thinks the donkey is his wife half the time, how the bloody hell could he produce something as astoundingly astonishing as THAT sword?_

_If Mr Brown had DONE it, he would have BLOODY BROUGHT IT UP HERE._

_Moved away from the subtle sneezing now, have we Governor and we're RIGHT in with the general comments._

_Thank you. Thank you so much._

**ME:** I shall. A craftsman is always pleased to hear his work is appreciated. _Yeah. YEAH. A craftsman. Not a WEED._

_Oh good Lord. Oh god. Its here. She's here. She's never actually looked more beautiful. That dress – seriously – seriously do they make clothes, just for her? Do they employ fairies, or something to make her clothes? She's a goddess. A GODDESS._

_And the sweating has returned. And my legs won't stop shaking._

_I'm going to collapse. I'm going to collapse and she's going to stand on my face and that's the closest I'm ever going to get to her._

**GOVERNOR SWANN:** Elizabeth! You look STUNNING. _She does. I'd have to agree._

_I could just stand here and watch her all day. She glides, she doesn't walk. She's like some princess of wonder._

_Why is she looking at me?_

_Oh god._

_What's happened?_

_Please say I didn't forget to shave a bit of my goatee off this morning._

_Is it the tights?_

_Oh it's the tights. It has to be. And the buckles. Women don't like buckles, why do I never learn –_

**GODDESS (ELIZABETH):** Will! _WHAT?!_ It's so good to see you! _WHAT?!_

ELIZABETH: I had a dream about you last night.

_I hope she knows she's not only made my day and my life, but my entire existence_.

**ME:** About me, Miss Swann? _I have to check. She must be kidding. Governor Swann must've put her up to this_.

**GOVERNOR SWANN:** Elizabeth, I hardly think…

_Or not!_

**ELIZABETH:** Yes, about the day we met, do you remember?

_Do I remember? DO I REMEMBER? I act it out every single day. Molly, our donkey, has to act as Elizabeth, but it usually works out quite well. NOT that I think Elizabeth is a mule, of course, no – but Molly is more physically astute than Mr Brown. Oh that day. Her face. Her shining face of sunlit radiance brought by angel kisses._

**ME:** How could I forget Miss Swann.

**ELIZABETH**: Will, how many times must I ask you to call me 'Elizabeth'?

_I would actually willingly sacrifice my soul for such an opportunity. I would cut off my own foot and serve it as an appetizer to James Norrington._

_But judging by the look Mr Swann is giving me that is not going to be an option._

_Well perhaps he would agree to the whole foot thing. He'd probably ask for the other one._

**ME:** Once more, Miss Swann, as always.

_I am a pathetic, weak-minded fool._

**GOVERNOR SWANN:** There, see at least the boy has a sense of propriety. _Oh SHUT up. Feeling the dust today, Mr Swann?_

**GOVERNOR SWANN:** Now, we really must be going –

_Oh. Oh she's stopped smiling. She doesn't look terribly impressed. She thinks I'm a weed. I agree. I am. I can't even stand up to a glorified poodle._

**ELIZABETH:** Good day, Mr Turner.

_That was slightly harsh, I feel. Especially to someone like me with an evident backbone deficiency._

_Quick! Follow her! Declare your love! Run away with her!_

_Or just stand there._

_Yes. Just stand there. Suave, Will, suave._

**ME:** Good day…. Elizabeth.

_Just shoot me now._


	2. Will and the soiled orange cloth

_I hate myself._

_No, don't feel sorry for me._

_I am such an idiot. I am less than an idiot. I'm like – a toad. A pirate even. Yes, I'd sink that low. I am a pirate._

_I can't even move the shame is so great. I'm just going to lie here in the gravel. I didn't actually fall down here. I tripped down the stairs. And now._

_This is where I shall stay. It's not exactly comfortable. But it's what I deserve._

_What I deserve for being a spineless weed._

**DOORMAN:** Sir?

**ME:** Guuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhh. _Why must people TALK TO ME WHILE I LAMENT. Where is the common decency of people nowadays._

**DOORMAN:** S'cuse me sir but – if you'll pardon me sir, we can't shut the door.

**ME**: What?

**DOORMAN:** You're lying in the door. We can't shut it.

**ME**: Oh – oh I'm terribly sorry –

**DOORMAN:** No problem, Sir, if you'll just –

**ME:** MIND MY FUCKING BUCKLE.

**DOORMAN**: S-sorry, Sir…

_I can't even WALLOW RIGHT._

_That's it. I'm going back to the shop._

_I'm going back to the shop, and I am going to spend every waking minute constructing the best sword known to humankind. It's going to be beautiful. Not just gold filigree, oh no – I'm thinking jewels, diamonds, incrustations – perhaps even my signature._

_Then I am going to take this sword._

_AND I AM GOING TO CHOP MY OWN HEAD OFF WITH IT._

_And then, then I am going to resurrect myself._

_AND HANG MYSELF ON THE GALLOWS._

_I really am beyond speech. Why am I such a fool? Elizabeth is probably laughing at me from her carriage right now, he shining pearls gleaming in the sunlight as her smiles mock my lifeless form._

_You know, for a Governor's house it really smells quite foul around here. I've noticed it for a while. And I would know, because, as I found out, your sense of smell becomes more adept when you lie face down in the gravel._

_What the hell IS that? It smells like Molly –_

_No._

_It's not true._

_I won't believe that it is actually possible._

_THERE IS DONKEY SHITE ON MY SHOULDER._

_Oh forget the sword, I'm taking the next blunt object and shoving it right up my nostril._

_Oh GOD. I can't believe I actually stood there and talked to my darling with donkey excretion rubbed merrily across my right shoulder blade. Oh –oh and a piece of straw, how delicate._

_I bet she smelt it. I bet she's sitting there with the Governor right now feeling sorry for me, nodding appreciatively at the pity that is that poor lowly orphaned blacksmith weed who doesn't even have the money to wash his own shirt before going out in it._

_HOW DID I MISS THE FUCKING DONKEY SHIT?_

_HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?_

_Unless –_

_No._

_No that's ridiculous._

_Governor Swann wouldn't even want to touch me, let alone have the audacity to smear poo on me before Elizabeth arrived – or would he…._

_No. No there wasn't time._

_The doorman?_

_MR BROWN?!_

_Oh the SHAME. And it's all trailed in my hair – and – OH AND MY NEW RIBBON!_

_I can't BELIEVE THIS. I traded my last chicken for that fucking ribbon just because it matched my tights. Just because I thought Elizabeth might appreciate a small gesture like that, might, you know, feel a slight attraction towards a well-kept man who knows the trick of colour co-ordination._

_BUT WHO THE FUCK WOULD BE ATTRACTED TO A WELL-KEPT MAN SMEARED IN MULE EXCREMENT._

_I hate myself._

_Well. There's nothing left to my life now. I may as well become an outlaw. I'm half way there already. The soiled clothing. Broken buckled shoes. Woeful expression. Pocked skin due to gravel indentations. One piece lodged solidly in the eye._

_I'll become a pirate. I'm disgusting and ugly enough to be one. I'm poor enough to be one. All I need is a drink._

**BARMAN BORIS:** Will m'boy! What brings you to these parts? I didn't order nothin' did I?

**ME:** I - actually – I came for a drink. _Please don't laugh at me._

**BARMAN BORIS:** A drink?

**ME:** Yes. _Eye contact Will, keep eye contact, look fierce, come on you can do it –_

**BARMAN BORIS**: Water?

_For god's sake._

**ME**: No – I meant a real drink. Ale. Whatever it is, give it to me! _Oh so smooth._

**BARMAN BORIS:** You feeling alright? _DO I LOOK LIKE A MAN WHO'S FEELING ALL FUCKING RIGHT? MY LIFE HAS BEEN SHREDDED BEFORE MY EYES AND SMEARED IN THE SHIT ACROSS MY SHOULDER._

**ME:** I feel quite well, sir. I have money, if that's the problem.

**BARMAN BORIS:** No, no that's fine. It's just – you've never had a drink.

_Why does he have to speak so loudly?! He's causing a commotion! PEOPLE ARE STARING. Oh GOD RUN AWAY!_

**ME:** If it's too much trouble, I'll leave – _And make that sword before I cause myself anymore damage._

**BARMAN BORIS:** No – no stay, Will. What'll you have?

_FUCK._

_I don't KNOW any drinks!_

_Shit. What do I do? God I must look nervous – I'm sweating again – add to the range of pleasant smells emanating from my person today – oh NO._

_What the hell is THAT?!_

_Don't come over here._

_Don't talk to me._

_Go away._

_Go away, you smell._

_Urgh._

_Get away._

_GET AWAY._

_STRANGE ODOUROUS WOMAN: Give him rum. He looks like he's seen a ghost. It's called staring the odour of death in the face. I hear it causes discomfort to many people._

_HOW WAS I TO KNOW IT CAME IN HUMAN FORM?_

_Maybe if I sit down she'll go away. If it is a she. I think it might be a horse. A horse in the most disgusting shade of orange I've ever witnessed. This is actually appalling. This is worse than being at the Governor's house._

_She's not going away._

_No._

_In fact, she's going to lean on my head._

_GOD. I'm going to pass out. She actually smells like my shoulder in horrendous amounts. That's probably why she's over here. Trying to mate with something as smelly as she is._

_And she has THE sharpest elbows known to humankind._

_This is just cruel._

**STRANGE ODOUROUS WOMAN:** There you go, get that in you. _The fuck is that. It's brown. Its mud. Its muddy water and she wants me to drink it. I think she scraped it off her foot and put it in the tankard. _And you haven't told me your name. I'm Rose, by the way.

_Oh how very fitting. I'm sure stink would be a more appropriate name. Perhaps DUNG._

**ME:** Will Turner.

**ROSE:** And what brings you to these parts Will?

**ME:** Sorrow. _Please go away. PLEASE._

**ROSE:** Ain't that the truth of it.

_WHY IS SHE SITTING ON MY LAP?_

**ROSE:** Drink up, come on!

_I WOULD IF I WAS CAPABLE OF MOVING ANY PART OF MY BODY YOU WHALE._

_All right._

_I'll drink it._

_Save me time making the sword if I can kill myself with muddy water first. That will be quite a legacy to leave to my –_

_I don't even HAVE anyone to leave a legacy to!_

_I am pathetic. Purely pathetic. Pure and simple pathetic Will._

_God. I think it's congealed. I think lumps are forming. Or perhaps that's just something living in it. A bog creature. Half a toe nail._

_Good bye cruel world._

**ME:** Cheers.

**ROSE:** The same to you –

_THE FUCKING HELL IS THAT?_

_IT BURNS! IT BURNS SO BADLY!_

_AH!_

_AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!_

_I'm DYING! I'm CHOKING and I'm DYING at the same time!_

_Can't breathe – turning blue – gah._

_GAH._

**ROSE:** So, women troubles?

_Excuse me? WOMEN TROUBLES? I don't give a flying sword about WOMEN TROUBLES._

_I AM DYING._

**ME:** …. Yes. _Do people drink this stuff normally? Do they know it is just FIRE? Fire and gunpowder and mud from smelly's feet._

**ROSE**: What happened? She run off with someone else? _ELIZABETH IS A SAINT not A WENCH._

**ME:** No, I – I just can't seem to get her attention. _Unless, of course, I am smeared in poo._

**ROSE:** You got mine. _URGH. Don't smile at me you THING. You have no teeth! You just have holes where teeth should be!_

_It sounds about right though. The only women I can attract are toothless horses that smell of manure. Excellent. I should just marry Molly._

_GET YOUR FILTHY ARMPIT OUT OF MY FACE._

**ROSE:** You know, the way I figure it, is women are attracted to a certain something about a man. An accent, an air – something like that. What do you have?

**ME:** I make swords.

**ROSE:** And?

_She's going to be impressed by the next bit. I know she is._

**ME:** I practise with them. 3 hours a day or more sometimes!

_Surely she should be clasping her hands now? Eyes bright with wonder and intrigue?_

**ROSE**: … Is that it?

_Oh great. So now the SMELLY WOMAN thinks I'm pathetic as well. As if I couldn't be more disheartened. The woman has her armpit in my eye._

**ROSE:** Listen, Will. You're a good-looking lad. _Well. I try._ We can work on that. Try this.

_What?_

_WHAT?_

_I don't think I'm going to attract Elizabeth by wearing that monstrous piece of material – oh GOD don't say she's taking it off. No. The thought is too horrendous._

_No – no she's ripping it._

_And giving it to me._

_Well at least I have got something out of today._

_A soiled piece of orange cloth from the bottom of a horse's skirt._

**ME:** Um. Thank you.

**ROSE:** Tie that round your neck, she'll be SWARMING after you. As will the flies. Women love a man with a bit of taste. You'll have something unique. _I do not doubt that. Not only will I smell of mule, I'll have the opportunity to wear mule. Oh god. I think its disintegrating. I think its exploding itself in my hand._

**ME:** Somehow I don't think a new scarf will convince her I'm the man she needs.

**ROSE:** It might help. _Yes. 'Elizabeth, do you notice something a little – unique about me?' 'Oh yes Will, the soiled piece of orange cloth makes you look so MANLY.'_ You know what your problem is?

_Well._

_There is a woman the size of a small navy fleet on my lap, gently soiling my new tights. I have gravel puck marks in my cheeks from lamenting. My buckles are broken, my new ribbon and shirt are soiled by donkey shit and I will never have the woman I love. Oh, add to that the fact that I'm a nothing weed with a backbone deficiency._

**ROSE:** You ain't passionate enough.

**ME:** I'm not?

**ROSE:** No. Women love men who stand up for what they believe in, and are heroic and determined and ambitious – what are you?

**ME:** A blacksmith.

**ROSE**: Apart from that – what do you do?

**ME:** It is all I do.

**ROSE**: You aren't passionate about anything? Never really angry?

_Two words. James. Norrington._

**ME**: Sometimes.

**ROSE:** Well just get really angry and passionate, wear the scarf, bob's your uncle –

_I'll do anything if it will GET YOUR SMELLY PHYSIQUE AWAY FROM ME._

**BOY:** PIRATE! There's a pirate here!

_WHERE? HIDE ME!_

**BOY:** He had a chain to the governor's daughter an' – _he what_. – 'an e' escaped, and now everyone's out looking for 'im!

**ROSE:** Do you know a name?

**BOY:** Jack Sparrows what I 'eard 'em shout!

_Oh Will._

_Will your time has come._

_This is the chance you have been looking for! Heroic, dashing, brave, talented, gorgeous – she won't be able to resist! This is PERFECT._

_I'll go back, change my clothes, find a new ribbon and tight set, clean the poo off me, wash this orange thing, tie it on -_

_Then I am going to find this Jack Sparrow._

_Oh I can see it now._

**_ELIZABETH:_** _Oh Will! Will you caught that villainous wretch! How did you do it?_

_And I shall step out, ribbons billowing, looking impressive, not an inch of poo._

_**ME:** I was just doing what I had to._

_**ELIZABETH:** For me?_

_**ME:** (By this point I shall be leaning casually on the sword) You know I would do anything for you, Elizabeth._

_**ELIZABETH:** Oh Will! How gallant and brave and wonderful you are!_

_Oh GOD it's just too perfect. This Jack Sparrow is such a blessing._

_And Governor Swann will have no choice but to be nice to me._

_And I can accidentally wipe poo on Norrington's back._

**ME:** Thanks for the drink Rose -_in no fathomable manner_ – but now I must find this Jack Sparrow and thwart any plans of escapism!

_That was her cue._

_To get off me._

_NOW._

**ROSE:** One last drink?

_That's it. I'm going to push her off._

_Well I would if I had a FUCKING SHOVEL._

**ME:** Thanks for the scarf. _Oh God. The smell. Its catching. Now I smell of it too_.

**ROSE:** You're welcome, Will. You'll need it to win fair lady with Jack Sparrow about.

_God's sake, he's a pirate not a prince._

_That'll just add to the situation when I defeat him. I shall stand, glowing in the light, radiant, handsome and wonderful, over the shivering wreck of something that looks like the rear end of a pig and probably can't even pronounce his own name._

_Ah ha HAH. This is so PERFECT._


	3. Will and the fight with the Captain

_Jack Sparrow._

_Jack Sparrow, the pirate._

_Hahahahahahahaha!_

_This is just TOO easy! Someone must be smiling on me. I must've done something brilliant. Obviously my dedication to hammering iron and the literary arts has paid off._

_For once, things are going to go my very happy way._

_What kind of a name is Jack Sparrow anyway?_

_I mean, I may not know a LOT – well, anything, about Pirates; but I am SURE notorious, elusive and ferocious pirates do not get by naming themselves after scrappy, squeaky little balls of brown feathers. I don't see many people being terrified at the thought of a ball of fluff pillaging their belongings._

_Why didn't he just call himself Jack Goat, at least then he could eat his way through Port Royal._

_One things for sure, he must be a few inches short of a gold plated, jewel encrusted sword._

_Meh HAH. I am SO in this time._

_I could skip, but I won't, because I know there are vicious rumours circling about my sexuality at the moment (people adverse to the buckle movement, I believe) and also because, to my great regret, I suffer from a lack of coordination._

_If I try to skip, I will fall on my face._

_And once is quite enough in a day._

_You know, I wish Mr Brown would let me do something with the walls in this Blacksmiths. His excuses for not letting me are purely pitiful._

_MR BROWN: Will, Brown is for BROWN! Don't you see the connection? When people see the walls, they will instantly consider its owner. It's a business technique, son._

_I don't know business well, but I am sure that suffocating your customers with brown does not help sell the swords._

_I swear you'll find bodies of lost sword buyers buried in the crevices of this place, blinded and lost in a haze of mud coloured hell. Petrified against walls._

_I hear noises._

_Good GOD, what the hell is wrong with Molly?_

_I think she's finally cracked._

_The Caribbean heat has finally penetrated her soft donkey head and left her practising the 'Elizabeth and Will' scenes we devise alone._

_She's currently immersed in the 'hard to get' scene, involving Elizabeth (Molly) running around, giggling girlishly (grunting, or whatever it is that donkeys do) and me chasing her. I envisage it as all rather dashing and romantic._

_Except that Molly is a donkey, not a real-life goddess._

_And she can only walk in a circle._

_And she's quite slow and tends to do her business along the way, which does not seem a very Elizabeth-like trait._

_Plus it would appear I am trying to woo a donkey._

_I have sunk so very low._

**MR. BROWN:** Snore

_Such a bloody oaf._

_This is what makes me angry! This is what helps to induce the late night angst ridden poetry sessions!_

_I slave away, creating masterpieces day by day, sweating even more profusely than normal and hence basically drowning myself in outer body fluids (which, by the way has led to a number of accidents involving hot pokers and mallets being dropped on my feet)._

_This does NOTHING for my hair, which in its normal state is actually rather fluffy and ringletty at the bottom, but instead is reduced to what looks like a squat dead, wet creature stuck resolutely to my scalp._

_I would not be entirely surprised if it grew legs and took a casual stroll down my back from time to time._

_This, in turn, induces the next-door- neighbour's cat to believe that I am nurturing some vixen-like female cat on my head, so whilst I am trying to conjure up precise and deep metaphors to describe my longing for Elizabeth, I am often surprised by a leaping mass of orange fur, which claws onto my ears, half suffocating me, and me, being too weak to actually remove the beast, I let it remain there for a good amount of time leaking odours and performing what I can only assume are sensual catty love songs to my scalp, which ring so loudly and truly that they haunt my dreams._

_One time, it actually tried to mate with the top of my head. I was forced to have serious words with the owner the next day. That cat needs a long, freezing cold shower._

_The memories just – just stain._

_IT'S A VICIOUS CIRCLE I TELL YOU._

_ME: Right where I left you. He is a BIT – only a tiny bit – but a BIT better than Weatherby or Norrington. He took me in, trained me up. Naturally, this was for the purpose of making me his own personal slave, but he is a sort of half father figure. We're suited at the moment anyway. I must smell as bad as he looks._

_ME: But not where I left you …_

_Hang about._

_Someone has MOVED MY PICKAXE._

_WHY._

_Why would someone do such a thing?_

_It was polished, it was neat, it was tidy, IT WAS IN ITS SPECIFIED PLACE._

_WHY WOULD SOMEONE NEED TO COME IN AND MOVE IT FROM ITS SPECIFIED PLACE?!_

_I spend huge amounts of my precious, poetry-writing and sword-practising time arranging all the tools in here, trying to make it look half respectable, and people just – just DISREGARD my organisation._

_I am outraged. Genuinely outraged. There was no need for it. The sword is made._

_No other work needs to be done at the moment, and if so I'D be bloody doing it._

_People KNOW how I feel about order! This is just CRUEL._

_What could it have been? Mr Brown was feeling a bit lonely today so got out my pickaxe to talk to?!_

_Well I KNOW it wasn't Molly, she's compassionate to my needs, so that really only leaves Mr Brown or the lost customers of this mud-infested hell hole._

_It's a CRYING outrage, what is the point –_

_Mr Brown … went shopping today?_

_He – he bought clothing?_

_HAS THE WORLD GONE INSANE?_

_Mr Brown has never changed his trousers in 8 years, why on EARTH would he need a hat -_

_Oh God. He's duped me again. I know it._

_There must be some big banquet on tonight, and Mr Brown, as principal credit-taking sword maker has received an invitation. Hence a new hat must've been necessary._

_But – but that means I must not have been invited._

_Ignored._

_Cast out._

_REJECTED ONCE AGAIN._

_But it IS a nice hat. Granted, its brown, but it is very leathery and nicely made._

_You know… I think this is the sort of hat for a man like me. It suits those of us with dashing good looks, and I can see myself in a sort of buccaneer role with it on. Hair flying majestically, cape billowing in the wind, Elizabeth gasping with joy at the wonder that is MR WILL TURNER._

_And failing that, it's an excellent way to stop that frigging cat from trying to mate with my scalp!_

_I might just try it on._

_Just have a look at what its like._

_I would never STEAL, no, but Mr Brown IS asleep …_

_OUCH!_

_MR BROWN!_

_How DARE you slap me with a sword?!_

_I am not a CHILD, I know that it is your hat and am AWARE I am touching without permission, but to scold me with a sword is just taking the biscuit -_

_That's not Mr Brown._

_Well, actually, it could very well be Mr Brown, had he managed to have an entire body transplant in the seconds I lamented his disregard for my organisation._

_How long was I lamenting…._

_I fear this is off the point._

_WHO THE HELL IS THAT?!_

_No._

_No NO NO NO NO NO! PLEASE SAY IT ISN'T TRUE._

_It CAN'T be him. I refuse to believe that once again, my plans of heroic actions are to be destroyed and cast away on the shores of my donkey poo ridden life._

_No._

_THAT isn't a Pirate._

_I've HEARD about Pirates. Pirates are disgusting, with one eye and no cheeks and kind of a face that looked like it sucked itself into its skull. And with a parrot. Perhaps a claw, or something._

_Hence I have clearly stumbled into a misgiving situation. This man clearly cannot be Jack Sparrow._

_Not only does he possess, from what I can see, all his bodily parts in total, but he is in fact, the most impressive and handsome looking male I have ever seen in my entire life._

_And I am including myself in this estimation. So it's a high estimation._

_Plus he is wearing MAKE UP. And it SUITS him._

_He must be a relative of mine. That's the only explanation. He must've been shipped off to some tribal continent where they specialise in the blending colours of eye makeup and trinkets and after years of heart wrenching searching has found me._

_Let's face it; the man is too good looking NOT to be related to me._

_But he's not looking best pleased. I understand, of course. If someone touched one of my buckles without proper permission I too might get very angry._

_It's easily explained. This is clearly a misunderstanding._

_I'll just make sure. Just pose him a statement of sorts – making sure I look gruff, butch and heroic (creating the right impression, I feel), and then he'll deny it, and we'll all laugh about this later on._

_I might just use my deeply masculine, impressive voice that I use during the 'wooing Elizabeth' moments in the re-enactments with Molly._

_He is very attractive, after all._

**ME:** You're the one they're searching for – the Pirate. _Now, you see, he'll just deny such things and we'll meet and greet and all is going to be rather humourou-_

**HIM:** You seem somewhat familiar, have I threatened you before?

_OH MY GOOD SWORD-YIELDING BUCKLE-WEARING GOD._

_HE DIDN'T DENY IT._

_WHY AREN'T YOU DENYING IT?!_

_HE IS THE PIRATE._

_HE'S JACK SPARROW. AND JACK SPARROW DOES NOT RESEMBLE THE BUTTOCKS I ENVISAGED HIM TO BE._

_NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO._

_He's GORGEOUS. And I think the voice he's using is ACTUALLY HIS._

_IT'S ACTUALLY MASCULINE!_

_HE'S MASCULINE AND HE LOOKS LIKE A GOD AND HE WEARS MAKEUP AND GETS AWAY WITH IT!_

_There is just no justice in this world._

_Well that's it then._

_I'm dead._

_Finished._

_No bravery for me. Not heroism. No cape and peaked brown hat (which I was getting quite attached to)._

_No Elizabeth._

_Elizabeth. ELIZABETH._

_ELIZABETH HAS ALREADY MET HIM!_

_And – and she MUST have noticed, somewhere in the whole threatening of her life situation, that he was actually, well_

_SORT OF FLIPPING GORGEOUS._

_And he speaks in the voice of a man!_

_And even though he's a pirate, she's going to realise that even one of THOSE can be more attractive than a humble, sweaty blacksmith, and she's never going to notice me again._

_Not that she would, anyway._

_Unless I can –_

_Woo him myself?_

_He might be that way inclined! Eye makeup DOES speak volumes, even when you're as good looking as he is …_

_And THEN it would throw Elizabeth well and truly off the hunt, leaving her free for m-_

_Oh you TWAT Will._

_This is the depths I have sunk to._

_I am considering wooing a male pirate to win the woman of my dreams._

_WHO, SURPRISINGLY, IS NOT AN IDIOT AND MIGHT JUST NOT FALL FOR A MAN WHO SEDUCED ANOTHER MAN TO WIN HER HEART._

_Well that's it. I've got nothing to loose. I'm going to let him destroy me._

_The cruel world may have had her last laugh with me, but I AM going out gallantly._

_Manly Will, come on, this is your finest hour._

_TUNE that voice._

_Husky._

_Yeah._

**ME**: I make a point of avoiding familiarity with Pirates. _Oh ho, how sinister am I! That was insulting. I do feel a bit proud. I really think I wore the expression I use when people can't colour coordinate their buckles. The risen sword and the glowering eyes and everything._

_But, of course, now I have to fight him._

_So, goodbye._

**JACK SPARROW:** Well then I'd hate to put a black mark on your record, so if you'll excuse me…

_You what._

_He's LEAVING._

_THAT'S how poor I am at insults and glowering, the man can't even bear to fight me?!_

_HE'S JUST GOING TO SAUNTER OFF? IN A DISGUSTED MANNER?_

_I am SORRY._

_But all that effort is NOT being wasted._

_I AM GOING TO DIE VALIENTLY RIGHT NOW, DAMMIT._

_Remember what you're defending Will. Keep steady. Eye contact._

_Here come the sweats._

_Good GOD not now. Being found dead in a pool of my own perspiration is hardly the way I planned to leave this godforsaken place._

_JACK SPARROW: You think this wise, boy? Crossing blades with a pirate? Well, no, actually I DON'T think it's wise, I think it's incredibly stupid of me which I assume YOU shall prove in about 3 seconds and when they discover tiny bits of me all over Port Royal._

_AND while I'm at it. BOY?!_

_I AM A MAN!_

**ME:** You threatened Miss Swann. _I'm throwing as much malice into my words as possible. I've had a lot of practise with Molly, but God KNOWS I never thought I'd actually have to do it for real._

_I hope he doesn't fight me._

_I can't actually see._

_The sweat from my forehead has actually blinded my eyes. He's going to think I'm CRYING. This is pathetic._

_I can't fight him now, I can't even move! I'll just trip up on my buckles and die in a massive pool of perspiration and donkey shite on the floor._

_It all seems very fitting._

**JACK SPARROW**: Just a little. _How come HE gets to pull off the sexy voice! I WANT A SEXY VOICE!_

_He can't be gorgeous AND have a sexy voice, it's just not FAIR._

_Port Royal is NOT big enough for two gorgeous men, especially when there is only one gorgeous woman._

_And despite him being a Pirate, he has a SEXY voice!_

_I cannot compete with that._

_Well here's the moment I've been practising every day for._

_Going to fight him._

_Going to lose._

_Going to die in a melted puddle on the floor._

_All that remains will be one solitary buckle shoe, and a large Tom cat wooing my hair._

_Just don't trip up Will. You don't need to skewer yourself._

**JACK SPARROW:** You know what you're doing, I'll give you that. _Oh GOD. He's making me blush! How HORRIFYINGLY EMBARASSING. Kill me. Kill me RIGHT NOW._ But how's your footwork?

_My footwear? He appreciates buckles? This is so, HEARTwarming I –_

**JACK SPARROW:** If I step here… _Oh NO he meant movement! ME! The uncoordinated chicken-faced WEED! Don't TRIP…_

Very good. Thank GOD. Now I step again…

_WELL. I'm sorry, that was quite a haughty glance he gave me there. And is that – No. The SELF SATISFIED SMIRK?!_

_A TRADEMARK OF THE INFAMOUS BOBBLE-HEADED COMMODORE NORRINGTON?_

Ta.

_That's it. I'm angry. I have been fierce, threatening, maintained my ultimate cool, my hair has NOT frizzed up, and I have managed to sword fight whilst being severely handicapped by the problem of my ludicrously over-active sweat glands._

_And HE just thinks he can waltz in here, all, all GORGEOUS and NOT SWEATY and just, just SCORN me._

_I'M GOING TO CHOP HIS STUPID SMIRKY HEAD OFF._

_Oh shit._

_I missed._

_Now he's stuck in here._

_Good GOD._

_And I'M stuck in here._

_And he's bloody angry._

_And now I'm severely lacking in the sword department._

_JOY._

**JACK SPARROW:** That is a WONDERFUL trick. _What was? Missing his head and securing my own doom? Yes, yes that was a stroke of pure GENIUS on my part._

But once again, _his voice gets sexier with anger. Mine tends to turn to a variety of different pitches as I speak._ You are between me and my way out. And now, you have no weapon.

_Stating the bloody fricking obvious there_ –

_Hang on – POKER! The Molly poker! I hate it, having dropped it on my foot several times (and once on my face) (it's a long story) but it might just save me now._

_Ah HAH. I feel quite impressive. I swiped that content grin right off his beardy face (another thing! WHY can't I grow little plaits! If I did that, I'd probably be mistaken for a woman. Or perhaps a grazing goat. HE pulls it off.)_

_(PIRATES.)_

_GAHH! Sparks! Molly! My SWORDS! MY ORGANISATION DAMMIT! THE HELL DOES HE THINK HE'S PLAYING AT?!_

**JACK SPARROW:** Who makes all these?! _Meh HAH! I have shocked him! Shocked and indeed enthralled him with the wide variety of sword wizardry I have created in my long, weary angst ridden hours._

_I have to admit, I hope he's a bit impressed._

_I wish SOMEONE would be a bit impressed with me._

**ME:** I DO! _Oh NO. What was THAT. My eagerness has caused me to slip quite cleanly back to that excruciatingly breathy drone I was using this morning! He's going to think I'm an absolute IDIOT. Quick, Impress him! DO ANYTHING!_

And I practise with them 3 hours a day!

_Waittt for it._

_Wait for it, it'll come._

_He HAS to be impressed by that. A little bit scared maybe? Perhaps he'll give up –_

**JACK SPARROW:** You need to find yourself a girl, mate!

_Excuse me?_

_EXCUSE ME?!_

_Is this Weatherby, in disguise?!_

_I can think of NOONE, not even Norrington, who would sink so low as to both ridicule my sword practise perseverance and assume that it means I am a worthless, single weed._

_Well they might think it, but at least they have the common decency not to SAY it to my face!_

_That – that really hurt._

_Maybe I just radiate singleness? Maybe Jack Sparrow knew as soon as he met me, that someone with donkey poo on his shoulder and the sweat supplies of the Caspian Sea couldn't POSSIBLY have attracted anything other than a horny Tom Cat and gnats._

_It could've been the buckles._

_I've always had my doubts about them, honestly, but I did resolutely stick by the fact that they really added to the colour of my tights._

_WELL._

**JACK SPARROW**: OR – perhaps the reason you practise for three hours a day is that you've already found one, and are otherwise incapable of WOOing said strumpet.

_He really does have the most striking brown eyes._

_WHY CAN'T I HAVE STRIKING BROWN EYES?_

_Mr Brown once told me he thought I had the eyes of hardened horse poo._

_He said it added character._

_And I believed him._

_But THOSE eyes…_

_Hang about._

_How did HE know about Elizabeth? And how does HE know that I can't woo her?_

_And how dare he call her a CRUMPET! She is NOT edible or buttery!_

_SHE IS THE VERY PICTURE OF BEAUTY ON EARTH._

_But do –_

_Does – does EVERYONE know I can't woo Elizabeth? Does… do people know I like her, and they sit around TALKING about it?!_

_Am I the only one who didn't know that everyone knew I liked Elizabeth but was incapable of winning her heart?_

_AM I THE ONLY ONE NOT IN ON THIS JOKE?_

_I bet its Weatherby. I bet he has meetings, with samples of my poetry and cups of tea, and they just sit there and – and GUFFAW at my misfortune._

**JACK SPARROW:** You're not a eunuch, are you?

_WHA – I – How VERY – EXCUSE – BU-_

**ME:** I PRACTISE FOR THREE HOURS A DAY, SO THAT WHEN I MEET A PIRATE, I CAN KILL IT!

_HO, I am RAGING now. I am THE tempest storm. A EUNUCH. And with the slightly worried look down towards my AREA. Like he actually believed it to be TRUE._

_How – how – I can't speak. I can't process that. That was so…._

_HOW VERY DARE HE?!_

_I'm going to FIGHT him, and I'm going to KILL him, and then I'm going to resurrect him and make him an UGLY eunuch –_

_Because No – one – questions – my – private – area – except – ME!_

_Just because he's good looking, does NOT give him the right to insult the very fragile integrities of some other equally good looking individuals._

_That is just against everything I stand for._

_Oh no._

_WHY._

_WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY._

_How did I lose THAT. I was so CLOSE to winning. I was doing so well, I did some excellent turns, for GOD'S SAKE._

_Great._

_And now my face is covered in sooty crap. And my tunic. The man has NO compassion._

_Does he NOT realise the trouble this will put me in?_

_Firstly, it takes ages to wash out, so I'm going to look like I've rolled my face in poo all afternoon._

_Secondly, he's going to kill me, and I am going to be found LOOKING like I died rolling in poo, henceforth being referred to as 'that weedy blacksmith who killed himself by poo.'_

_THIRDLY, if I do survive – however slim the chance may be, this stuff will wreak HAVOC on my pores and hair – hair which is in a fragile state ALREADY, I may add._

_And lastly, it is going to STAIN my tunic. The only good tunic I had left, Molly having eaten the others._

_Jack Sparrow is purely a MONSTER._

_I hate him._

_The HELL? He's pointing a GUN at my head? He can't point a gun at my head, that's not how it's done!_

**ME:** You cheated!

**JACK SPARROW:** Pirate. _As if THAT excuses it, MR SPARROW. You, you – brown, fluffy ball of …. Fluff._

Step aside.

_My ARSE I'm stepping aside. He can bloody well go through me now for all I care._

**ME:** No. _Someone's hammering on the door…_

_HAH!_

_HAHAHAH!_

_I did it! I actually defeated him anyway! So I AM going to look good!_

_HAHAHAHAH!_

_All I need to do now, is avoid being shot, letting him escape and somehow find time to wipe this stuff off my face…_

**JACK SPARROW:** PLEASE move? _Manners, now is it? Well not this time, 'mate'…_

_OK he's made the gun do the click thing._

_He looks quite serious._

_This doesn't bode well for me._

_I may have overestimated my powers of victory._

_Well at least if they catch him now – which I hope they do – I will have died a sort of hero's death. Being shot is a lot more dramatic than dying in your own nervous sweat. Or congealed soot on your face. It's pretty impressive, actually._

**ME**: No. I cannot just step aside and let you escape.

_Here it comes._

**JACK SPARROW**: This shot was not meant for you.

_Goodbye my darkened world, lit only by the glow of a young lady too beautiful to love me. Here lies Will Turner, gallant weed, poo smeared, death by sweat._

_Rest In Peace._

_What -_

**NORRINGTON**: Good work Mr Brown, you have assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive.

_I cannot believe it. Mr Brown_.

_RISING to the occasion in my moment of need. Sliding out of his drunken stupor to whack Sparrow with a bottle…_

_HANG about._

_He's getting the credit. AGAIN._

_The BASTARD!_

_I bet he was awake_ _the entire time!_

**MR BROWN:** Just doing my civic duty, sir.

_TAKING CREDIT FOR MY BLOODY FLIPPING STUPID CIVIC DUTY IS WHAT YOU WERE DOING._

_GOD DAMN YOU MR BROWN!_

**NORRINGTON**: I believe we can all remember this as the day that Captain Jack Sparrow ALMOST escaped. Take him away.

_He is the CAPTAIN? I fought the Captain?!_

_He sounds a lot more impressive now, actually. His name suits his handsomeness. CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow._

_Why can't I be a CAPTAIN?!_

_Captain Will Turner._

_Captain William Turner._

_Captain Turner._

_Captain Willy Turner._

_Captain Will 'The Blacksmith' Turner._

_Captain Will 'Iron hammer' Turner._

_Captain Will 'Poo shoulder' Turner._

_Captain Will 'the sweaty' Turner._

_Captain Perspiration._

_Captain Weed._

_'Captain' does have a certain ring to it. Maybe that's what I've been missing all these years. A title, a proper title. I mean, that must be what Elizabeth is used to, Captains and Governors and Commodores._

_Will the Blacksmith was hardly going to do me any favours. That and the hair, I suspect._

_She's probably used to ringlets as well. And my hair just won't do it._

_Well I'm alive._

_It's a good thing, actually. Given me ample time to embarrass myself in public, sweat with anger in front of Norrington and of course to drop the poker on my foot._

_Its good to know that battling with Captain Jack Sparrow was THE most demeaning, shocking and useless event of my entire life._

_I achieved nothing but to be insulted, traumatised and uglified by a PIRATE, for God's Sake, a PIRATE who is gorgeous and who has a sexy voice._

_I hope they all just leave so that I can make that RUDDY sword to stick through my poo coloured eyeball._

**NORRINGTON**: Oh, and Mr Turnsford? _BLOODY Hell –_

You have something brown on your face. Good day.


	4. Will and the moonlit bathe

_Its so ... Its so UNFAIR._

_Why is it, that every SINGLE time I have the chance to be a hero, some pompous/gorgeous/pirate individual breezes in and RUINS EVERYTHING._

_On top of that, it took me 4 HOURS to clean the soot out of my hair. My poet shirt? Ruined. And it was my FAVOURITE._

_And don't even get me STARTED on my new tights and buckles. I hope that, that PIRATE knows it was three swords worth of clothing he smeared his FILTH over._

_I'm so upset. I can't even be bothered to tell that stupid next-doors cat to piss off. Infact I think I've done the opposite. I think I've attracted it._

_Earlier..._

**ME:** -_Hammering some iron_- STUPID. COMMODORE. MR. TURNSFORD. INDEED. ELIZABETH. UNFAIR. DEATH.SADNESS. WOE.

**NEXT-DOORS CAT:** -_Sidles in through the window and rubs itself against my leg-_

**ME**: Listen CAT, I'm not in the mood for your GAMES tonight, I'm fragile - I'm... TALKING TO A CAT.

**NEXT-DOORS CAT:** -understanding glances-

_So I gave it some milk. And a fish._

_OK it was more than that. I went down to the pier and caught the fish myself. But the cat deserved it! It looked hungry. And I got a moonlit bathe into the deal, so really everyone won._

_Except for a slight ... a slight INCIDENT, which occured whilst I was swimming._

_You see, it was a spur of the moment event. I had walked the two or three miles it is down to the coast with the intent of feeding this compassionate - if sexually agrivated - moggy, and was standing admiring the clear moon lighting up the sleepy bay of Port Royal. It was deadly quiet out there, save for the swell of the waves, and I took this to be a good sign, as I had already tripped over a HORRENDOUSLY misplaced rock and fallen flat on my face._

_But NOONE saw it._

_This meant it was to be a good evening._

_And I got to thinking about Jack Sparrow, and Elizabeth, and how Elizabeth probably likes a spontaneous man, the kind who would whisk her away to a secret corner in the middle of the night and, and perhaps read her a verse or two of secret heartwrenching poetry, and then allow her to bathe his masculine if sensitive brow._

_And yes, in my case, she would probably be expected to mop my tears as well._

_THAT is the extent of my passion to Miss Swann! I can barely CONTAIN my words on paper. And I know, given the chance, she would appreciate this in a man._

_So in a moment of adrenaline-fuelled spontanaiety (and now I think about it, concussion as well.) (It was a very large rock I tripped over) I tore of my clothes and ran into the waves._

_And this is where my perfect bathe became unperfect. You see, the water was very cold. And in a burst of manly inspiration, I decided to swim out. Unfortunately, the swell caught me and I found myself dragged under the waves, and as usual, fighting for my life._

_An hour later I arrived, half-drowned (yet strangely cleansed) GASPING towards the shore, whereupon I discovered that my clothes had disappeared._

_I will admit I sat and cried for a while then, but this was merely because I was exhausted from my battle with the trecherous sea-devil that is Port Royal bay, and not because whoever had stolen my clothes ( I suspect Norrington AND Weatherby, why rest at just one mortal enemy) had made off with my second poet shirt._

_The first, as you know was ruined by Jack Sparrow._

_NEEDLESS to say, I am a poet-shirtless man._

_And, honestly, why else would Elizabeth want me._

_Eventually I had no choice but to try and sneak back home. I would have happily stayed out there all night, but gutwrenching poetic lines were bursting from my frostbitten fingers, and despite trying, I couldn't write them in the sand or a rock, and I needed to get back and find myself some parchment._

_I HAD parchment with me in my clothes._

_There's no justice in this world._

_Also my hair makes me look like some kind of Yeti if I am exposed to the elements for too long. On the way over from England eight years ago, one of the mates aboard the ship I was travelling on offered to sell me to a travelling pack, to perform in Port Royal. Apparently I would have made a pretty penny from that deal, especially as I had the legs to forward it._

_I don't doubt him on that; do you think I just wear tights on a whim?_

_Oh no. Will Turner can PLAN his outfits._

_Luckily Port Royal seems unusally quiet in the streets tonight, which made for a happy retreat back to Mr Browns. I must admit, I nearly had an argument with a chicken who seemed VERY reluctant to hide my modesty in the presence of an attractive young lady, and who seemed, in all his feathery WIT, to prefer to clamber up my face and, as all animals seem to favour, poo on my naked shoulder._

_I also met a rather interesting gentleman who seemed MOST ... well... intrigued, frankly, by my lack of attire, and offered me refuge for the night. I agreed to come to his house (which he assured me was on the next street) to borrow some clothes, and upon following him found myself led to a backstreet alley, and..._

_Well suggestions were made that I don't find it proper to go into._

_The rest of my journey home was not so epic, save for the fact that you'd think the residents of Port Royal would have better things to do with their time than roar at me from their windows. Apparently not._

_And the ever-witty Mr Brown thought it would be MOST amusing to bolt the door for my return. Needless to say, its not difficult to attract attention when your naked rump is suspended half in and half out of a Blacksmiths window, because the pot you were using to balance yourself slipped from underneath you._

_And when I find whoever it was who SLAPPED most heartily my exposed buttocks, they will pay._

_So now I'm just doing some midnight hammering. Wondering about Elizabeth. Wondering if she'll ever see past my dehydrated exterior and find the real Will, the strong, CORAGEOUS, AMAZING Will. The William who can battle a MAELSTROM, practically, in Port Royal and live to tell the tale._

_I bet she would if I wore make-up like that SPARROW. But then again, thats hardly becoming of a gentleman is it, to wear so much eye makeup? I mean, I have been known to dabble with the eye enhancers myself but thats -_

_JESUS CHRIST._

_For such an extremely large - and now, extremely FULL - cat, it can bloody LEAP. It was out that window in a flurry of splayed legs and static fur!_

_Decidedly a more graceful exit than my entrance earlier this evening. The shame of it all._

_I hope its alright though, I mean it did wail a fair bit..._

_Its alright. Its running up the street now._

_It IS really quiet here tonight! Where is everyone?! It wouldn't be a normal night in Port Royal if I hadn't looked out of my window to see some gentleman ambling out of a tavern propositioning the wall, the floor, and eventually me._

_And although I can't see my life spent with the men who consider me in their evaluations, I do miss their compliments. They are the only people I've met who haven't abused me or my tights within the first few minutes of meeting me._

_Well._

_I think that just about says it all doesn't it. I don't really see the man who wins Elizabeth's heart as someone who basks in the glow of compliments and propositions by drunken old men._

_Especially those who choose to proposition you as an afterthought when the wall and the floor have turned them down._

_I lead a rediculous life._


End file.
